A/N: Making good progress on my book. It took a few months to write the first draft. Then I let it sit for most of a year. Then I started a second draft. A few chapters into that, only THEN did it occur to me, "Heyyy, let's toss in this thing that spawns a new central conflict and completely changes the focus of the whole entire story." Gods, I love revisions. Rewriting a story is just so. Much. Fun.

Anyway.

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Kakuzu

Kakuzu really enjoyed visiting the hospital that night. Perhaps it was perverse, but something about carrying broken and nearly-dead bodies around felt deeply satisfying. He walked into the hospital's emergency room and informed a person that he would be bringing in two heavily injured friends of his. Then he went back outside. Konan had unlatched the rear gate of his truck and told the dolls to drop their forcefield. At his nod, she wrapped the masked man in paper and lifted him off the blanket. The dolls used levitation to do the same for Yahiko. They carried both limp bodies inside.

There were several other people in the ER at the time, but none in worse condition. Kakuzu saw a young man with a broken leg, a mother with a fevered infant, and someone with a head injury that had left them dazed (a healthy companion watched over them). All serious conditions, but none that threatened immediate death. The receptionist called two nurses out immediately to take Yahiko's bruised and bloodied body. When Kakuzu informed her that the other man had swallowed a venomous insect and developed life-threatening breathing problems, she called two more. The emergency room was soon abuzz. The fevered infant's muffled sobs turned to shrieks. Konan took Little One over and explained to the mother that the dolls could use magic. With the mother's consent, Little One surrounded the baby in a cool mist. That and a little healing magic quieted the baby back down to normal crying volume. The mother gave Konan a smile. The poor woman looked exhausted enough to sleep on the hard tile floor.

Yahiko and the masked man were soon rushed behind closed doors. Kakuzu grabbed a nurse overseeing the masked man's body and told him, "This man wears a mask for deeply personal reasons. Feel free to remove it, but keep it available. When he wakes up, he'll want to put it on. If he takes any visitors before then, put it on for him. The last thing he needs is to have his privacy violated in addition to nearly dying." The nurse promised to pass on these instructions to anyone caring for the masked man. As Kakuzu watched him go, he thanked narrative convenience for this small courtesy. His false memories told him that in the real world, such a request would be scoffed at, dismissed or forgotten. We call it narrative convenience. But considering that all we do in this story is try to live happy lives, might it be just as accurate to call it kindness?

The other three dolls acted agitated, but Little One seemed to be alright. Kakuzu asked permission to let the dolls help the other patients. After some indecision, the receptionist agreed. Warlic used healing magic on the young man's broken leg while Solis and Manta did what they could for the head injury. The baby dropped into a fitful but quiet sleep, the young man regained color and the dazed person looked more alert. As Kakuzu had expected, helping people calmed the dolls down. Konan ushered them out the doors. She and Kakuzu climbed into Kakuzu's truck. The dolls insisted on climbing in with them. Konan held onto the dolls while Kakuzu drove.

After ten minutes of silence, Kakuzu said, "You were right. When I first suggested these battles, you said we clones crave pain."

"I did."

"But I'm starting to think we only crave pain because we can crave it. Because injury and distress won't be permanent or have any permanent effect. Or rather…" Kakuzu took a moment to compose his thoughts. "Or rather, it's not truly pain that we seek. It's the healing that comes after."

"And it is narrative convenience that guarantees that there will be healing. In another story, the risks would be too great."

"Exactly."

"Why do you bring this up?"

Kakuzu wondered that himself. "It seemed relevant. In the real world, I couldn't have asked for those accommodations. Hospital workers have better things to do than respect a patient's privacy. But here, Obito doesn't have to worry."

There were another several minutes of silence. As Kakuzu took the left turn that led to their base, Konan said, "He and Zetsu are a summation of us all."

"You think they're the last ones? When the fractured mind is made whole and the alien brought home, the story will end?"

"Quite possibly."

Kakuzu pulled into his usual space under the trees and killed the engine. "That's not far off."

They were not alone. As the six of them got out of the truck, a familiar two-sided face emerged from the shadows. "What happened?" White Zetsu asked.

Kakuzu looked up. The night was solidly black and had been so for at least two hours. Zetsu said they get drowsy as the sun sets. How much willpower are they using to stay awake right now? He revised his thinking of Zetsu. Their ideas might not be in the right place, but their heart was.

Konan said, "We went to the emergency room. We were seen right away. They both were taken in for immediate treatment. Kakuzu told a member of the medical team about Obito's wishes to avoid being seen without his mask, and thanks to narrative convenience, we can expect those wishes to be respected. All will be well."

"Who's gonna look after Tobi?" White Zetsu asked.

"We will send visitors tomorrow morning," Konan promised. "They will not be alone."

"Yahiko nearly died," Black Zetsu said. "But he wanted to. He stopped flying and let Madara catch him."

Konan's fingers curled. Kakuzu came up beside her. "That was the only way Madara could possibly have been defeated," he said. "Madara had to defeat himself."

Zetsu looked down. Black Zetsu said, "We never understood why or how Obito developed a new alter to resemble that man. But seeing that battle… We can't explain it, but it made us think that maybe there's a reason for it. And maybe that reason has to do with what you just said."

"Come inside," Kakuzu said. "There's little we can accomplish standing around in the dark. Let's get some sleep."

Clone Hidan

Sleep did not come easily that night. Turbulent emotions kept him awake. Then, upon sleeping, his dreams were strange and difficult.

The next morning, he awoke feeling sad and not knowing why. He remembered the battles. Those were some fucking good battles. Even though Sunshine got hurt, I felt super proud of him. So why do I feel like this now? It has to be someone else's influence.

He opened his window and leaned outside. Sunlight dappled the trees. Sure enough, he found Zetsu photosynthesizing not far away. Strangely, they sat mostly in shade. "You're not gonna get a lot of sun here," Hidan said, sitting nearby. He wore his cloak to ward off early-morning chill and kept his scythe with him. He made sure to lay it down outside of Zetsu's sight.

"We don't only absorb sunlight," Black Zetsu replied. "We're trying to understand." His voice was subdued. They sat still, unmoving, keeping their eyes closed.

Hidan took a few minutes to do the same. Eventually he asked, "What do you guys want for yourselves?"

"Stability," White Zetsu answered.

"A decent life without too much trouble," Black Zetsu added.

"Some friends."

"That's all."

If that was true, why did they feel so sad? "Are you sure that's all? You feel…empty. Like there's something that's been missing for so long you've forgotten how to hope for it."

Another minute of silence. "A mate?" White Zetsu wondered.

"Company of our own kind…"

"There ya go," Hidan chirped. "If you say it out loud, then the universe might just hear you."

Zetsu folded their leaves and stood up. They picked up their clothes and walked forward. The street in front of the hotel was beginning to get sunlight. They resumed photosynthesis there.

Hidan felt better. They'll be alright. His stomach growled. He picked up his scythe and went inside to look for breakfast.

Clone Nagato

The originals came down for breakfast. They took scrambled eggs and plain unbuttered toast away to the sunroom. Nagato went after them.

"Don't you have a work schedule?" Original Yahiko asked.

"Yes, but…" Nagato shrugged.

"We can expect Konan to keep our Hidan occupied for at least a few minutes," Original Nagato said. "Is there something you wished to say?"

"Please explain sacrifice to me. I don't understand it."

Original Yahiko made thinking noises. They ate while he composed his thoughts. He wiped crumbs off his cheeks and said, "Sacrifice is a way of baring your innermost heart to the world. It's like…like turning yourself inside out, showing to the world exactly who you are and what you are made of."

"Not always," Nagato replied. "A lot of sacrifice is false, a way of hiding your innermost heart."

"Sacrifice of that sort is sad and does not succeed," Original Yahiko replied. "True sacrifice succeeds. What my clone did yesterday was a true sacrifice."

Tears came to Nagato's eyes. "It was motivated by love." He contemplated his toast, but couldn't imagine taking another bite. He put it down. "I don't know if I could sacrifice myself for him. I don't know if I love him or merely idolize him."

The originals shifted uncomfortably. "Do you have any opportunity to sacrifice yourself for him?" Original Nagato asked. "There is no way to answer such a question from a distance. You can only learn the answer in the very moment when a sacrifice is demanded of you."

Nagato shook his head slowly. "I don't know how to bare my heart. How do you perform a sacrifice? When I said I didn't understand that word, I meant it."

"It's not something you need to know how to do. You just…do it," Original Yahiko said. But they all knew such an answer was of zero value.

They finished their breakfasts. Just as Nagato was scraping up the last of his scrambled eggs, Original Hidan burst in. "Nice room to eat in. Hey, clone, scram."

"No," Nagato replied. He put his bowl down. "No, I need to ask you something. You might be able to answer my question. Hidan, how does one perform a sacrifice?"

Original Hidan looked at him quizzically before sitting. "First, you chase down the sacrificial object and engage it in glorious battle. You work up to a moment of peak splendor. Then, at the height of glory, you sacrifice it in the name of Jashin sama. Or whoever."

"That sounds like what Yahiko did to Madara," Nagato murmured. "But he didn't sacrifice Madara. He sacrificed himself."

"Eh, maybe it works differently depending on the god," Original Hidan said with a shrug. "But you need some kind of object, you need splendor, and you need some way of giving up all that splendor. Like, you accumulate glory and shit, but then you don't keep any of it. You give it away. That's the sacrifice." He stuffed toast into his mouth. "Wha' god're you tryn sagrfice for?"

"Good question. Thank you. I'm getting some ideas." Nagato took all the empty dishes back to the kitchen. A feeling of hope blossomed in his chest. I need a sacrificial object to help me work myself up to peak strength and power, then give that power away. Great! How do I give it away and what sort of object do I need? Those are the questions I need to answer.

.

By lunch, he had some tentative answers. My sacrificial object is Yahiko, obviously. He helps me whip up my inner power. I think I'm supposed to give it away to him, but I'm still not sure by what method. Definitely not by spilling blood. How, then?

He was unable to come up with any ideas. Fortunately playing with, bathing and feeding the dogs kept him occupied. Toward the end of his workday, a lightbulb went off. He approached Marsha. "Hey. I'm looking for advice. I have this friend who needs me, but I'm not sure what he needs from me or how to give it to him. Well, no, I'm quite sure that what he needs from me is my genuine support and affection and…and friendship. But how do I give that? What sorts of words or actions…?"

"Those dogs seem to think you do a good job."

Caring for physical needs? That doesn't sound quite right. "I hear what you're saying, but I think I'm looking for more than that."

"Ask him!" Marsha shrugged. "And remember that you know a lot more than you think you know, dear."

I know a lot more than I think I know. Those words stuck in Nagato's mind. He couldn't stop replaying them. I know a lot more than I think I know. What do I know?

.

He visited the hospital after work. Yahiko was being kept under intensive monitoring. Surgery had already been performed on certain organs to seal up ruptures, and now his vital signs were being watched with hawklike intensity. Nagato was permitted to sit in a chair, but Yahiko had so many wires and tubes on him that he didn't dare go any closer. "Yahiko. It's me. Nagato. I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm here. I'm here for you." Tears trickled down his face.

With Yahiko comatose, there was nobody to talk to except himself. He didn't dare pull out a distraction, like a phone or a book - instinct told him that would be exactly the wrong thing to do. All he could do was sit and watch. All he could do was be there. It was torture.

The torture became too much. He had to talk, even if nobody could hear him. "I've been trying to do right by you. Original Hidan gave me some good advice on that front. He taught me the steps involved in performing a proper sacrifice. Which is something you already know all about - in your battle with Madara, you followed the steps perfectly. You're an expert on sacrifice. I'm just trying to catch up to you. Just like I always have been, for as long as I've known you. I've always been chasing you, but I don't know why. What did I want?"

He listened to the monitors beep and the machines whir. In those sounds, he heard disdain. Disappointment. "I'm not sure if I love you, or if I only need you." Beep. Beep. Whir. "What I do know is that… That I want to help you. I want to see you happy."

Beep. Whir. Beep.

"Just as soon as I figure out how to give you my power, I will. I promise."

Nagato left after an hour. I must have done something right, because I feel strangely rejuvenated. He looked for Obito's room, and found it. Kakuzu happened to leave the room on a water break. He asked Nagato to take his place, then left. Nagato slipped inside and sat on another standard-issue hospital chair.

The masked man was not masked, but he did have a cloth draped over his face. His usual mask would not have fit over the ventilator. Between the cloth and the ventilator, his face still wasn't visible, so they could consider his privacy respected. However, his shirt had been removed, and a portion of his collarbone was visible. A jagged line roughly bisected his chest. On one side, he had a normal skin tone. On the other side, his skin was deathly pale. Nagato leaned forward for a closer look. No; it wasn't deathly pale. It looked like it was supposed to be white.

Kakuzu came back with water. "Do you know anything about his prognosis?" Nagato asked. Kakuzu shook his head. "Yahiko's?" Another head shake. "What's the holdup?"

"Hasn't been 24 hours since they were admitted. Considering the severity of their conditions, the doctors don't want to declare anything too soon."

"But we'll know more tomorrow morning?"

"We should."

"Good."

Kakuzu sipped his water. Nagato watched Obito's chest rise and fall. He thought of Zetsu. Another lightbulb went off, causing him to lean forward again. "That white patch on his chest: it's the same skin color as White Zetsu."

"I traded shifts with them in the afternoon," Kakuzu replied. "They told me that they used to make extra money donating tissue. White Zetsu's cells are very good at establishing themselves in a new body without causing problems. It must be because of being half-plant. When Obito was injured as a child, he needed extensive repair. Not just skin grafts; other tissue, too. And oh, look, the hospital where he was taken happened to have suitable tissue in reserve."

"So a large part of his body is White Zetsu's cells?"

"Yup. I couldn't help myself. I asked about his face." Kakuzu tossed his plastic water cup into a garbage can. "That's an unrelated matter. He didn't need any donated flesh on his face. He wears a mask to hide scars."

"That explains why Zetsu feels so attached to him."

"Partly."

Nagato cleared his throat. "How long are you planning to stay?"

"8 pm seems like a reasonable time to head home." Kakuzu shot him a look. "You shouldn't stay so late. You have other people who need you more."

"I do?"

"You have a boyfriend, remember?"

Nagato blushed. "I know. It's a surprise to hear that he needs me, though. Thanks." He got up. "Who's on duty tomorrow morning?"

"Our Hidan will be. It was a choice between him and Deidara, and he's more likely to know what to do with whatever intel the doctors can give."

Nagato nodded. Wishing Kakuzu well, he left the room. He went directly out of the hospital to his car and drove home in silence. As he drove, he wondered. What could Hidan need from him?

He got his answer when Hidan wrapped him up in a hug. "What's this for?" he gasped.

"For you being here. Duh." Hidan squeezed harder. "Mm. You smell nice."

Nagato hugged him back. "What do you need from me?"

"A nice warm lap to lie in."

Another hour and some elapsed before Konan told them dinner was ready. They spent that time in Nagato's room, on the bed, with Nagato sitting against the wall and Hidan dozing in his lap. This time, simply being there was not torture. It was pleasant. As Nagato ran his fingers through Hidan's hair, a thought drifted across his mind. Yahiko brings out my inner power, but he might not be the one I have to give it away to. Nagato thought about asking Hidan's opinions, but couldn't bring himself to do so. Hidan was too comfortable. Nagato closed his eyes and let himself be just as comfortable. It was bliss.

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A/N: Nagato's scene is just me thinking aloud. I feel this same way towards my writing. Increasingly, over and over, I find that writing brings out certain things that I then invest in the rest of my life. My stories supply me with energy, but receive little of it. This makes the matter of reinstating my writing deadlines...complicated. On the one hand, I should reinvigorate myself regularly. That's healthier than doing so in fits and spurts. On the other hand, I don't want to invest too much energy back into my writing. That's not what it's meant for.

Hmm.

Anyway. I'm quite glad to have this story still ongoing. Having one regular weekly infusion is helpful. See y'all next week.